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An Owl Refugee on a Battleship 



When the U. S. S. New Jersey was 

 hurrying down to Mexico, last October, 

 to aid American refugees, the first pas- 

 senger it received was an Owl. This hap- 

 pened while the ship was off northern 

 Florida, about sixty miles from the coast. 

 A fresh breeze was blowing from the land, 

 causing a steady roll, which must have 

 made it difiBcult for him to alight on the 

 yard-arm of the mainmast, particularly 

 as he came about two a.m., when it was 

 very dark and the ship's lights were 

 confusing. 



There he gravely sat while the masts 

 swept backward and forward and the 

 wind whistled around the wires. The 

 interest of the sailors did not affect him 

 in the least, in spite of the fact that it 

 kept the officers busy restraining some 

 of those who climbed aloft from trying to 

 catch him. The reports of the men on his 

 size, color, etc., varied greatly, although 

 all agreed that he had a white breast, 

 with no bars or stripes of any kind, and 

 that he was rather small, smaller than a 

 chicken, anyway. The man who finally 

 climbed up after him in the afternoon of 

 that day said that the top of his head was 

 smooth and round — but others were sure 

 it had horns. Mr. Owl started from the 

 ship with the wind, as though bound for 

 Africa, poor fellow. — J. W. Lippincott, 

 Bethayres, Pa. 



The Hummer and His Shower-bath 



The day was hot — too hot to remain 

 indoors; so, taking our chairs and moving 

 to the shady side of the house, we hoped 

 by putting to use the lawn-sprinkler to 

 cool the air and the surroundings. 



As we were thus comfortably seated, 

 whom should we see but our tiny friend, 

 the Ruby-throat, who also wanted the 

 enjoyment of the water. Alighting on a 

 scarlet sage in blossom, where he could be 



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sprinkled, he would hang back-down- 

 ward by his feet, sometimes losing his 

 hold and falling to the ground, but always 

 succeeding in regaining his perch. 



After watching this performance, I at 

 last approached him, expecting to see 

 him fly or, at least, attempt to do so; but 

 no, acting almost as if tipsy, he seemed not 

 to notice me. Picking the little fellow up 

 gently, I carried him in my open hand out 

 of range of the water, to show the others. 

 He seemed to be injured. I was thinking 

 that possibly he was hurt by his falls. 

 When, unawares, with a whirr he was off; 

 but, alighting in a nearby pine, he com- 

 menced the pruning of his feathers. 



About an hour later he was again seen 

 at his shower, repeating the same per- 

 formance. — Fred W. Kenesson, Remlig, 

 Jasper Co., Texas. 



The Early Woodcock 



In New Jersey and Pennsylvania there 

 comes a time, each March, when the 

 ground suddenly gives up the hard ice it 

 has been holding and allows the earth- 

 worm once more to come to the surface. 

 Right after this comes the mole, and then 

 the Woodcock — every time. 



I watch a certain patch of meadow in 

 south Jersey which lies behind a mill and 

 a great hedge in such a way as to catch all 

 the sun and none of the cold wind. Here 

 the Woodcock come first each year, and 

 here five appeared on March 15, in the 

 midst of a beautiful warm spell. That was 

 very fine for the birds, and boring was 

 easy, but five days later it blew up cold, 

 with four inches of soft snow, and a biting 

 gale to pierce the snuggest corners all 

 through the following night. 



I wondered what had happened to the 

 Woodcock and, finding no tracks near the 

 mill in the early morning, wandered over 

 the pine barrens and the swamps nearby, 

 until I finally found where one had lit 

 in an opening of the woods the [night 



186) 



